The sun was barely brushing the horizon when Isla quietly began packing her belongings. Each fold of cloth and clink of glass vials sent ripples of unease through her chest. She was leaving behind the only place she had known since her mother vanished, but staying meant silence—and silence would never give her answers.
Downstairs, the air was thick with the smell of firewood and rose tea. Lord Hallwell's voice cut through it like a blade.
"You're leaving?" His tone was quiet but sharp.
Isla turned, clutching the worn satchel to her chest. "I have to."
Lady Elira Hallwell stepped into the room, her silk robe flowing like shadows behind her. "Where will you go? The realm is dangerous for a girl alone—especially now."
"I won't be alone," Isla replied. "Caius is going with me."
Lord Hallwell's brows furrowed deeper. "A thief with a cursed sigil? That's who you trust?"
"More than anyone right now," Isla snapped, then lowered her voice. "He has no reason to lie to me. You both… you've kept things from me. About my mother. About the curse. About me."
Elira looked away, her fingers tightening around the edge of a velvet chair. "We only wanted to protect you."
"And look where that's gotten us," Isla said. "She's gone. I hear voices at night. I feel like something's watching me. You can't protect me from this—it's already inside me."
The room stood in heavy silence. A log in the fireplace cracked, spitting embers.
"You're chasing ghosts," Lord Hallwell said finally. "You don't know what you'll find out there. You don't know what this Circle really is."
"No," Isla said, voice trembling but firm. "But I will."
Lord Hallwell looked to his wife. Elira met his gaze, her expression unreadable, and after a long moment, she gave a faint nod. Something passed silently between them—grief, perhaps. Or resignation.
He exhaled. "If you must go… go with caution."
Isla stepped forward and embraced him tightly. "Thank you," she whispered.
"You take care of her," Elira said to Caius when he appeared by the doorway, arms crossed.
Caius gave a half-smirk. "She'll probably be the one protecting me."
-----
The road was long and restless. Twisting paths cut through skeletal woods, and wind scattered dry leaves at their feet. Isla and Caius barely spoke at first, each lost in thought, the dust of the morning still fresh behind them.
"You sure about this?" Caius finally asked as they reached a hill overlooking a murky stream.
"No," Isla replied honestly. "But I can't sit and do nothing. Not when my mother might still be out there."
Caius looked away. "You're braver than me."
"Maybe. Or just desperate."
By late afternoon, their boots were caked in mud and their limbs heavy with fatigue. As dusk fell, the wind shifted—cooler, with the sharp scent of smoke and moss. They saw a dim village nestled in the hollow between hills, cloaked in fog that rose like spirits from the earth.
The place felt… wrong.
The houses were crooked and close, roofs slouched like old men whispering secrets. Lanterns swung gently in the wind, casting long shadows over narrow paths. No children played. No animals stirred.
"This place is unsettling," Isla murmured, scanning the shuttered windows.
Caius sniffed the air. "Too quiet. Even the silence has a voice."
They made their way to a wooden inn at the center of the village, a creaky structure with faded paint and lanternlight leaking from its windows. The sign above read The Crimson Hollow.
Inside, the inn was warm, crowded with patrons whose conversations dimmed when Isla and Caius stepped in. Eyes darted their way—sizing them up, measuring.
"We should ask for directions," Isla whispered.
They took a small table near the fire, where a weary bartender served them broth and stale bread. The flickering fire painted every face in shades of orange and shadow.
A man in the corner strummed a lute slowly, singing a broken song about the mountain dead.
"So," Caius said loudly, trying to break the tension, "we're heading toward the southern cliffs. Heard that place has some history with… strange circles."
The words hung in the air.
A silence fell. One man—his face pale and jaw clenched—turned slightly in his chair.
A woman near the hearth narrowed her eyes, as if recognizing something long buried.
Isla felt it first—a shift in the air. Cold, like ice water sliding down her spine.
"They know," she whispered.
The bartender returned, but his hands were too careful—his smile too stiff. "You say you're headed south?"
"Yes," Isla said slowly.
"I'd be careful with what you chase," the woman by the hearth spoke suddenly. "Some doors were meant to stay shut."
Then chaos erupted.
The lute-player drew a blade from beneath his cloak. Two others rose quickly—moving too fast, too coordinated. Caius flipped the table just as one lunged, and Isla grabbed her satchel, eyes blazing.
One acolyte slammed Caius against the wall, snarling, "You shouldn't have come here."
"I could say the same to you," Caius grunted, kicking him back.
Isla reached into her satchel and flung powdered salt toward the nearest attacker. It sizzled against his skin like fire.
They fought through overturned tables and broken chairs. The acolytes whispered in tongues as they circled, but Isla and Caius moved in sync. Blades flashed. A bottle exploded near the fire.
"Out the back!" Caius shouted.
They crashed through the kitchen, the scent of burnt onions and blood thick in the air, then burst through the rear door into the mist-drenched alley.
Breathless, hearts pounding, they didn't stop running until the village lights were only flickers in the dark.
They collapsed behind a fallen tree, lungs burning.
"What the hell was that?" Caius said, coughing.
Isla stared at her scraped hands. "The Midnight Circle," she whispered. "They're watching us. They know we're coming."
Caius was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded, quietly.
"We keep moving," he said.
And under the ghost-lit stars, they did.